The Mothers' Group (32 page)

Pippa lay back on the recliner, considering the beautician's words.

When he's babysitting our kids . . .

Yes, she thought, that's exactly how it is. When a woman looks after her children, she's parenting. When her husband looks after them, he's babysitting.

The beautician smoothed a headband across the top of Pippa's forehead, then pressed a hot towel over her face. Despite her anxieties—
Will the pad
last the distance? Can the beautician smell me?
—Pippa could feel herself floating beneath the beautician's hands.

Why haven't I done this earlier? she wondered.

She awoke with a start to the beautician lightly tapping her shoulder.

Pippa smiled up at her. She felt as though she'd been asleep for a week.

‘We're done now, Pippa. Take your time getting up.'

The beautician began to tidy the room, screwing caps back onto bottles and squeezing out sponges.

‘Uh, I don't want to worry you,' she added, ‘but your husband rang the salon earlier.'

Pippa sat bolt upright. ‘Why? What's wrong?'

The beautician put a steadying hand on her arm. ‘He was just checking what time the facial finished.'

Pippa frowned. But why would he call, if nothing was wrong?

She scrambled off the table.

‘Thank you,' she said. ‘That was lovely.' She dug around in her handbag for her mobile. Four missed calls, all from Robert. Her stomach dropped.

As soon as she was outside the salon, she telephoned Robert. He didn't answer. She ran to the car and accelerated out of her parking spot. In the seven minutes it took to drive home, a hundred terrifying scenarios raced through her mind.

The instant she opened the front door, she heard Heidi crying, an unusual, low-pitched moan. She ran down the hall, panic overwhelming her. Robert was standing at the kitchen bench, peeling potatoes. Pippa stopped, confused. Heidi was nowhere to be seen.

‘Where's Heidi?' she asked.

Robert put down the potato peeler.

‘In her room,' he said. ‘She had a bit of a . . . bump. She cried a bit, then started rubbing her eyes, so I put her to bed. She's been in there about ten minutes now. She hasn't gone to sleep, so I thought she might be hungry.' He gestured towards the potatoes.

Pippa stared at him, speechless. Then she turned on her heel and started down the hall.

Robert followed her. ‘She's fine, don't worry. How was your facial?'

Pippa didn't reply. She opened Heidi's door and gasped.

Heidi was lying in her cot, red-faced, saliva streaming from her mouth. A large, egg-shaped lump bulged above her right eye.

‘Oh my God.' She scooped Heidi out of her cot and lay her on the change table, then bent over her to study the lump. Burst blood vessels streaked purple across its surface.

She turned to Robert, hovering in the door.

‘How did this happen?'

‘She was on the lounge,' Robert started.

‘What?' Pippa couldn't believe he would put Heidi anywhere except the floor.

‘I was right there,' he said. ‘But my phone rang and she just sort of slipped off. I'm sorry.'

‘She
slipped off
?' Pippa stared at him, uncomprehending. ‘How did that happen exactly, if you were right there?'

Robert looked weary.

‘Look, it was an accident. A work call came in, I had one hand on Heidi, then I picked up the phone and she slipped . . .'

Pippa put Heidi back into her cot and turned to face Robert. White-hot rage, unlike anything she'd felt before, surged through her. As she walked towards him, she felt as though she was wading through quicksand: the indignity of her incontinence, the humiliation of Robert's revulsion, every long, lonely walk she'd ever taken with Heidi in her stroller. Had she endured all of that, as well as three undignified years of IVF treatment, for Robert to
drop
their precious baby, like a carton of eggs, on the floor?

She slapped him with a force that stunned them both.

‘I'm taking Heidi to the hospital,' she said. ‘She could have concussion.'

Robert held a hand over his cheek, staring at her like a beaten dog.

‘Now,' she said, pushing past him.

She collected the nappy bag, her wallet, the car keys. She carried Heidi on her hip and pulled the pram out the front door, slamming it behind her.

She didn't have to wait long in Accident and Emergency. Both Heidi and Pippa had been sufficiently distressed for the triage nurse to prioritise them. Within ten minutes, they were ushered into a consultation room by a young registrar.

‘Hello,' he said, smiling at Heidi. ‘I'm Dr Lee. Now, what happened to Heidi?'

Pippa took a deep breath. ‘She slipped off the couch and knocked her head. My husband was looking after her, it happened about an hour ago.'

Dr Lee jotted some notes on his clipboard. ‘Okay, let's have a good look at her. You can keep her on your knee for the time being.'

Dr Lee ran his hands over Heidi's head and neck, palpated her limbs, tapped her reflexes with a tendon hammer, then checked her blood pressure. As he peered into her eyes, Heidi reached for the ophthalmoscope. Dr Lee smiled and nudged her in the chest with it. Heidi giggled.

‘Well, she seems fine,' said Dr Lee at last. ‘She's had a bump and a bit of a shock, but that's about all. I'll give her a dose of baby paracetamol for comfort. And we'll need to keep you here for the next four hours for observation. That's standard practice when a child presents with a head injury.'

Pippa nodded. ‘Okay.'

‘You said your husband was looking after Heidi at the time of her injury.' Dr Lee paused. ‘Is this the first time that's happened?'

‘Yes, I feel so bad. It's the first time I've ever left Heidi with anyone else.'

Heidi began to squirm on her lap, gnawing at a teething ring. Pippa shifted her weight on the chair. Amid all the drama, she'd forgotten to change her incontinence pad. The wetness was becoming uncomfortable.

Dr Lee looked up from his clipboard. ‘Is there any violence in the home?'

Pippa was shocked. ‘You mean my husband?'

Dr Lee nodded.

‘No, of course not.'

Pippa's cheeks flushed as Dr Lee continued to look at her.

‘Certainly
not
my husband.'

Dr Lee raised an eyebrow.

‘What I mean is . . .' She was stammering. ‘Today, when my husband let Heidi slip, I was so angry with him I could have killed him.' She pushed her hair behind her ears. ‘I slapped him across the face. I was completely out of control. I've never hit anyone in my life.' She could feel the tears welling in her eyes.

She stared into her lap, embarrassed. She wished she'd said nothing at all. Dr Lee passed her a box of tissues. She removed one and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

‘And how have you been coping generally?' Dr Lee set aside his clipboard. ‘The transition to motherhood can be difficult. How have you found it?'

She leaned back in her chair, considering him. He couldn't be more than twenty-six, this clean-shaven doctor. Barely out of university. Yet he'd posed a question that no one else had ever bothered to ask. Not Pat at the baby health centre, not the women in her mothers' group, not even her husband. Since Heidi's arrival, no one had asked whether she was, in fact, coping.

She exhaled. ‘I'm not coping very well. Today showed me that.' The wetness was seeping onto her skirt, she could feel it. ‘I need an incontinence pad,' she blurted. ‘Is there a spare one here?'

Dr Lee cocked his head.

‘I'm still leaking from the birth,' Pippa explained. ‘Heidi was a big baby. I had a nasty tear.'

Dr Lee picked up his clipboard again. ‘But that was . . . more than six months ago. Those symptoms should have resolved by now.' He jotted more notes. ‘No wonder you're having trouble coping. Do you often feel sad or anxious?'

Almost permanently, she thought.

‘Well, I'm not very happy a lot of the time.'

‘That's understandable, given your symptoms,' he said. ‘Who's your obstetrician?'

‘I don't have one. Heidi was delivered in the birthing suite downstairs.' Pippa could hardly remember that night at all. ‘The midwives told me to wait six months for my body to recover fully.'

Dr Lee nodded. ‘Look, I'm an emergency room doctor,' he said. ‘Today's consult is for Heidi. But I think you should get a second opinion on what's causing your incontinence. And a mental health assessment. It's not uncommon for women in your situation to have post-natal depression. I can give you some referrals now to specialists at this hospital. Would you like that?'

Pippa stared at him, digesting his words. A second opinion on her incontinence couldn't hurt. But post-natal depression? It had never occurred to her that what she'd been experiencing might have a label like that.

‘Okay.'

As he wrote out the referrals, Pippa hugged Heidi to her chest. She thought about Robert and the look on his face as she struck him. How would she ever make it better?

‘There,' said Dr Lee, passing her the paperwork. ‘Now, I'll be back to check on Heidi in two hours, and then again two hours after that. I'll ask the nursing staff to bring you some pads, and a few more toys for Heidi. There's tea and coffee in the corridor.' He waved a hand towards the door. ‘There's also a telephone out there, if you need to call anyone.'

‘Thank you,' she said.

Dr Lee stood up. ‘See you shortly.' He left, closing the door behind him.

Pippa reached into her bag for her mobile phone and dialled Robert's number.

When the specialist told her she had a grade-four tear that could only be fixed by surgery, Pippa wept with quiet relief.

‘We'll book you in for the procedure as soon as possible,' Dr Sturgess said. ‘It should have been done much earlier than this. But once you've had the surgery, you should notice a difference immediately.'

Robert squeezed her hand.

Pippa imagined returning home, gathering up all the incontinence aids in the house—the pads, the mattress protector, the adult nappies—then burning them in the backyard.

‘What does the operation involve?'

Dr Sturgess passed her several fact sheets.

‘Read these at home,' he said. ‘We'll repair the muscles and ligaments in the area. It's not always apparent what's actually needed until the patient is on the operating table, but in your case, I think it'll be a combination of bladder and rectum reinforcement. There'll be myself, a senior surgical colleague, an anaesthetist and a nurse in the theatre.'

‘What kind of recovery period is involved?' Robert wanted to know.

‘Ah, husbands are
always
worried about that.' The specialist smiled. ‘You should be back on your feet within a week, and we do a follow-up at six weeks. Would you like to book in with my secretary?'

‘Yes, please.' She didn't need to discuss it with Robert. She didn't care how much it cost.

‘Any questions?'

Pippa shook her head. ‘Thank you, Dr Sturgess.'

On her first night home from hospital she eased herself into bed, wincing with the pain. Robert appeared to be asleep already; his six days as Heidi's primary carer had clearly exhausted him. She'd arrived home that afternoon, buoyed by the support of the mothers' group and the raft of kindnesses they'd shown her. Meals prepared and coffees delivered to Robert, play dates for Heidi, visits and flowers and gift vouchers for Pippa.

But how quickly things revert to the status quo, she mused. It was as though she'd never left home. A stack of unwashed dishes lay in the sink, at least four loads of washing were piled in the laundry, and the pantry needed restocking. There was no soap in the soap dispenser, no paper on the toilet-roll holder, no milk in the fridge.

She reached out to turn off the bedside lamp, but Robert suddenly rolled over and wrapped his arms around her. His breath was warm on her face, their bodies closer than they'd been in months.

‘I never appreciated how tough it is,' he said, his face earnest. ‘With Heidi, I mean.'

She looked at him in the lamplight.

‘I mean, I knew you worked hard with her,' he continued. ‘But it wasn't until you were in hospital that I learned
how
hard. And it wasn't as if I was doing it on my own. The women in your mothers' group were amazing. I didn't have to make any meals for myself, or for Heidi. You normally do all
that
as well.'

He stroked her cheek.

‘I'm really sorry, Pippa. You've had no help at all, even when you were sick. I didn't know how to handle the . . . the injuries after the birth. I just thought they'd go away somehow. And I thought that if I was around at weekends, that'd be enough. I took you for granted, and I'm sorry for that.'

Tears slid down her face. For the first time in months, she felt understood.

She thought about the day of the facial, how she'd slapped him. They hadn't spoken about it since. ‘I'm sorry too,' she whispered. ‘I never should have hit you. I'll never
ever
do that again. I don't know what came over me.'

‘I do,' said Robert. ‘You were protecting your daughter. I stuffed up, she was hurt, and you reacted. You've been under a lot of pressure these past eight months.'

She nodded. ‘But I could've handled it better. I'll get out of this rut, Robert, I promise.'

He smiled at her, his eyes gentle.

‘
We'll
get out of this rut. We'll do it together.'

And, slowly, they had. It was as though the surgery knitted together not only her physical injuries, but the deeper wounds of her heart.

She started seeing a psychiatrist specialising in post-natal depression. He prescribed antidepressants and suggested she attend a weekly PND support group. At first she felt self-conscious, but when the other women spoke of their darkest hours, she understood them perfectly. She needed to hear their stories, and to tell hers too.